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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

 

Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that 

had ceased to work. "What makes you ask such a question, Vee?" she said. 

 

"I wondered." 

 

Her aunt answered in a low voice: "I was engaged to him, dear, for seven 

years, and then he died." 

 

Ann Veronica made a sympathetic little murmur. 

 

"He was in holy orders, and we were to have been married when he got a 

living. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family." 

 

She sat very still. 

 

Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, 

and that she felt was cruel. "Are you sorry you waited, aunt?" she said. 

 

Her aunt was a long time before she answered. "His stipend forbade it," 

she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. "It would have 

been rash and unwise," she said at the end of a meditation. "What he had 

was altogether insufficient." 

 

Ann Veronica looked at the mildly pensive gray eyes and the comfortable, 

rather refined face with a penetrating curiosity. Presently her aunt 

sighed deeply and looked at the clock. "Time for my Patience," she said. 

She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, 

and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. Ann 

Veronica jumped up to get her the card-table. "I haven't seen the new 

Patience, dear," she said. "May I sit beside you?" 

 

"It's a very difficult one," said her aunt. "Perhaps you will help me 

shuffle?" 

 

Ann Veronica did, and also assisted nimbly with the arrangements of the 

rows of eight with which the struggle began. Then she sat watching the 

play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her 

attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her 

knees just below the edge of the table. She was feeling extraordinarily 

well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a 

realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. Then 

she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt's many-ringed hand 

played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its 

operations. 

 

It came to Ann Veronica that life was wonderful beyond measure. It 

seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the 

same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that 

same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns 

and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of 

the gods. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the 


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